


How Would You Feel (If I Told You I Loved You)

by blackorchids



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Closeted Character, Consensual Infidelity, Consensual Infidelity (mentioned/implied), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Lack of Communication, M/M, Male Friendship, Missing Scene, Relationship Discussions, Semi-Closeted Character, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackorchids/pseuds/blackorchids
Summary: So there Joe is, hidden in Caspar’s closet, disguising a really entirely too cheesy (romantic?) surprise visit as a prank, and Caspar’s brought someone back with him.This could get awkward pretty fast.





	How Would You Feel (If I Told You I Loved You)

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt it needs repeating, but in case it does: I do not claim to know anything of Joe Sugg or Caspar Lee's romantic or otherwise personal relationships in their lives beyond what they have chosen to share with the internet, and this is entirely made up from my own imagination after seeing Joe’s video _PRANK ON EX-ROOMMATE BACKFIRES MASSIVELY!_ and all of the subsequent tweets and videos where he’s in L.A. with Conor and Caspar. 
> 
> title from ed sheeran’s song _how would you feel (paean)_

Caspar waits until Jenny’s left for the night, arms full of leftovers he’s sending her home with as an extra _thank you_ for allowing him to involve her in their youtube shenanigans, before he rounds on Joe.

He’s going to be calm and chill about this, but “You actually thought I was _with_ her!” is what slips out of his mouth, because the second he starts thinking about it again he gets indignant all over again. Conor sort of laughs, slipping off his barstool and edging into the lounge area, turning up the volume on the tv as he throws himself into the sectional, giving them the illusion of privacy.

“We said it was okay,” Joe says defensively. “You didn’t even have an estimate as to how long you were going to be out here.”

And that in itself had been a nightmare of a conversation, the two of them forced to be honest and mature about something that mostly went unacknowledged, in terms of importance or longevity. After nearly three years, neither Joe nor himself were in the dark about how important they were to each other, but serious, exclusive, monogamous dating was something they’d shied away from this entire time.

 _Consensual infidelity_ was not something he’d admit to googling anytime soon, and it sounded shadier than it was. But the both of them liked sex, and the both of them were in the closet, and the both of them considered the friendship more important than any of the extras. _It’d be okay, if one of them hooked up with someone else_.

“It hasn’t even been a month,” Caspar says, eying Joe with something akin to suspicion. “Unless— _you’ve_ —”

Joe looks as offended as Caspar had felt only seconds ago. “I flew eleven hours to see you under the flimsy excuse of a prank,” he says. His tone is still defensive, but he’s starting to smile a bit, because he clearly can see as well as Caspar that they’ve gotten some wires crossed and been a bit dim, again. The sentence sounds like an admission of some sort.

Behind them, in the lounge area, Conor turns up the volume even louder and Caspar rolls his eyes, but takes the opportunity to inch closer to Joe, overwhelmed anew at seeing him in person, there in L.A. because he’d missed Caspar as much as Caspar had missed him.

Maybe it wouldn’t be bad, if they started telling one another this kind of stuff. 

“Shut up,” Joe says, even though Caspar hasn’t said anything yet. He’s trying to fight his smile, lips twisting and terrible facial hair twitching slightly with the effort. He hooks his fingers through the belt loops on Caspar’s jeans and rocks forward a little. Caspar ducks down and kisses him, pretends like he’s not fully aware that Conor is probably live-texting their continued idiocy in the group chat.

It’s a few blessed days of the pair of them being able to wander around town, exploring and eating and joking around, one of Caspar’s arms sling over Joe’s shoulders, delicate line of laddish and lovers toed with less caution than usual, in an unfamiliar country.

They drag Conor along to the Ricky Gervais show for plausible deniability, and he’s happy to sit between them for the selfie before switching back with Caspar. It’s a good time, and all of their friends are more than used to being third wheels, so Conor does a good job of letting the pair of them hold hands and making sure they don’t get too wrapped up in each other during intermission and at dinner after.

The three of them head out to a nightclub after dinner, and some girls find Conor suave and charming, and Joe and Caspar get too drunk and a little handsy in the darkened room, the atmosphere of the American nightclub at once familiar and foreign compared to British places.

Loud music alters his heartbeat and neither he nor Joe are really very good at dancing, but they’re working up a sweat alternating between grinding and bouncing, too giddy to stay focused on any clear seductive moves. 

Joe and him head back to the apartment without Conor, taking an Uber back to the place they’ve been staying at, have entirely too sloppy sex in Caspar’s bedroom before dragging themselves to the kitchen to eat cold pizza straight from the fridge, a little tipsy from residual alcohol and a lot high on each other, on being near each other. They collapse on the couch, mostly undressed but still clothed enough they won’t give Conor an eyefull whenever he makes it back, and let late night American television hypnotise them to sleep.

The next day is a lay-in, bad reality tv playing in the background as Joe and Caspar sit on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled in the centre. They trade stories, catching up on the smaller life things that they hadn’t gotten around to messaging each other, joking around, making fun of Josh and whatever programme is playing at the time, bickering over what food to order in. Joe’s editing his vlog, the one where he films _giving Caspar the iPhone X_ , and Caspar’s tapping out questions for his planned collab video with Joe and Conor.

“Boyfriend versus best friend,” Joe says, apropos nothing. “It’ll get the most views.”

“And who’s playing which?” Caspar asks, raising his brows. Joe snorts, barely looking up from his MacBook.

“Well, obviously I can’t play both at once, that’d be a shoddy video.” he jokes, but one of his hands leaves his keyboard and he lets his fingers wrap around the delicate bones of Caspar’s ankle, the grip oddly grounding and intimate, considering what they’d gotten up to the night before.

Caspar knows it’s agreement, that Joe had somehow managed to pluck out the hidden question and was answering it just as easily. A small, secret smile curls at the corner of Joe’s mouth, even as he continues editing one-handed, and Caspar feels a blooming warmth in his chest area.

And maybe actual, spoken conversations about this are still like pulling teeth, but Caspar can’t help but think this is pretty good too.

**Author's Note:**

> when will it end? come talk to me about these dorks or leave a prompt on tumblr [@ rosalinesbenvolio](http://www.rosalinesbenvolio.tumblr.com)!


End file.
